


Forbidden Affairs

by Foureyed_Pufferfish



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Implied Mech Preg, Multi, Slight Royalty AU, homophobic undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:06:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7879447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foureyed_Pufferfish/pseuds/Foureyed_Pufferfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of struggling through an arranged bonding neither Arcee nor Ratchet are happy.  With Ratchet wrapped up in an affair, the public is beginning to notice, a fact that could put their lives in jeopardy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forbidden Affairs

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes on terminology:  
> Frame class is treated differently here than in any canon Transformers work and more closely mirrors the way gender is treated in western society. There are three frame types: Ayer (bulky, strong frames usually heavily armored), Nora (frames in the middle, lighter than Ayer but stronger than Tali), and Tali (slight, petite frames. Tend to be upper class or intellectuals, those not known for strength). 
> 
> A bot chooses their frame as they grow throughout life. Once they hit their adult frame their choice is logged and permanent. Subglyphs are tied to frame class while visible pronouns are tied to whether a bot is considered a mech or femme.
> 
> I use human time measurements as I find using cybertronian measurements breaks the flow of the story.

Everything had been planned for months. Venues booked, press alerted, guests invited. The majority of leading political figures in attendance had prepared speeches and some even came baring gifts. It was not every day a mech was declared master of a city by the Prime himself, especially one as old and prestigious as the city of Praxus. That one had done it so young was a testament not only to his skill but his determination as well. Mechs had come from every city to attend the ceremony. An electrical storm was not going to stop an event of this caliper. 

Thunder cracked through the air, rattling the windows in their frames. Light flashed high up in the clouds, dancing about the drops of sulfuric acid as they condensed and fell. So far the storm was only raining weakly and the lightning had remained in the sky, not yet touching down. Meteorologists predicted that would change later into the evening. 

“Ratchet?” A voice called from the hallway of the hotel suite. “Ratchet, are you ready yet? We have to go.”

The medic in question lifted his helm from his arms with a groan. His forehead felt dented from falling into recharge on the plating adorning his arm. He sat up slowly, wincing when his back protested the movement.

“You aren't even dressed,” Arcee stood in the doorway, blue plating half hidden by decorative drapery and jewelry. She glowered down at him, a hand on her hip, the other on the door frame. “And you've scuffed your chevron. We're going to be late, Ratchet.”

The medic stood, moving to fish for his cape in his suitcase. “We'll blame the storm.” He threw the silk cloak over his shoulder, fastening it with an engraved platinum clasp that displayed the symbol of the medic's guild. Arcee wore a similar one, though her's bore her house crest overlaid with Ratchet's.

“At such a ceremony? A storm is hardly an excuse.” Arcee pulled a cloth from her subspace, grabbing Ratchet's chin to hold him still while she rubbed at the white paint transfer on his chevron.

“Prowl understands,” Ratchet insisted, letting Arcee fasten a series of jewels to his plating once she'd finished with the polishing cloth.

“That's not the point, Ratchet,” she sighed, backing away to check him over.

“I know,” he conceded, taking her hand to place a kiss on the back. “I'm sorry. If we leave now we might make it on time.”

The femme smiled faintly at the kiss. “Our transport is waiting outside.”

Ratchet followed her from the luxurious hotel suite. “In the rain?” Concern seeped into his tone.

Arcee laughed. “Non-sentient. I'm sure a shuttle-former would enjoy sitting in the rain just as much as you would enjoy patching their acid burns.”

Ratchet hummed, holding the entrance door open for his partner and quickly following her into the transport before the rain could singe his paint. “Medical duties are not on tonight's agenda, no.”

The transport cab was not very large, forcing Ratchet in close next to Arcee, despite her small size. It was, however, fairly lavish. The seats were covered with a plush metallic fabric and a thick glass pane separated the passengers from the driver, providing both privacy and protection.

The internal speaker clicked on overhead once both passengers were settled. “Traffic is a bit heavy tonight given the occasion, Sirs. We should arrive at the central hall in ten breams.”

Arcee leaned forward to click on the microphone on their end. “Thank you. Let us know when we're close.”

“Yes, Ma'am.” The speaker clicked off.

Arcee sat back, hands settled in her lap. The two sat in silence as the bulky transport pulled away from the hotel entrance. Once the noise of the road had grown to a steady growl Arcee spoke. “There's rumors again you know.”

Ratchet watched her calmly. They'd had this discussion before. “About us, I'm assuming?”

“What else?” Arcee shrugged. “They're fairly close to the truth this time, Ratchet.” She glanced over to him, clearly expecting him to provide a solution.

Ratchet gave an exaggerated sigh. “The bond is arranged, I don't know what they expect.”

Arcee shrugged, having little answer for that. “They expect a strong political tie and for us to eventually find happiness with one another.” She almost sounded wistful.

“Arcee,” Ratchet's tone softened, “It's not that's I'm unhappy with you, you know that.”

The femme nodded. “But you'd be happier elsewhere.” She sighed, glancing out the window, elbow propped on the frame. “I know, Ratchet. I never expected anything out of this really.”

Ratchet reached across the cab to take her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm in lieu of an apology. “And you've been so accommodating. I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done.”

She gave a roll of her shoulders, but Arcee did not pull her hand from Ratchet's grasp. “Then at least pretend you've been faithful, just for tonight? We could do to pull some of the attention away from us and our continued lack of an heir.”

Ratchet waved a hand dismissively. “We could easily solve that problem if you'd just let me hint at a few medical conditions. What do we need an heir for anyway? My house will be carried on by my brother, as Chromia will carry yours.” 

Arcee's optics slitted into an exasperated glare. “Wheeljack isn't your blood brother; he doesn't count. Besides, I don't want to write this off as us not being able to conceive. We've talked about that. And you're head of the medical guild. We're expected to create our own house.” She flipped her and Ratchet's hands around so his was on top, tracing over the years of wear with the edge of her thumb. “Ratchet, please.”

The medic watched her with half shuttered optics. “I'll behave for the ceremony. Promise. No shouting my affair to Primus.” He smiled down at her playfully.

Arcee shook her helm, evidently not amused. “Please don't. You'll get us all executed.”

Ratchet looked taken aback at that. “Prime would never allow that.”

“I'm not sure he'd have a choice, Ratchet.” Arcee held his gaze, releasing his hand to coil her's into her lap. “I don't think he has as much power as you want him to. Just be careful, please.”

The medic nodded wordlessly before glancing away, watching acid rain stream down the transport windows. 

The city rolled by in flashes of artificial light, illuminated fully only by the occasional lightning strike. The downpour of rain had grown heavier, large drops of acid tinted rain pinged against the metal roof of the transport. The sky had darkened from a muddy brown to a deep burgundy as the clouds blocked out Cybertron's white dwarf sun.

The gates to the tower's court yard rolled steadily closer. Several servant class mechs stood outside with acid resistant umbrellas waiting to escort guests to the main hall. One of the mecha, a large green bot, stepped forward to open the transport door for Ratchet while a second mech moved around to the other side to accompany Arcee. The servant did not offer Ratchet a hand, his class station forbidding him from even the slightest touch without permission. The medic kept a respectful distance, but flashed the mech a smile of thanks.

The two nobles were instructed to wait just outside the doors to the main hall while their presence was announced. They weren't late, but neither were they early. The hall was filled with guests milling about. Nobles exchanged greetings, catching up with old acquaintances while reporters snapped photos. Ratchet and Arcee walked into the crowd together, focusing on putting forward the image of a happily bonded couple. The two wheeler rested a hand on Ratchet's forearm, pulling herself in close to the larger mech's frame. Several nobles greeted the pair passingly before one mech stopped for a longer discussion.

“Wing Lord Starscream,” Ratchet greeted with a respectful flare of his EM field.

Starscream smiled, providing the same ,if some what subdued, greeting. “Health Minister Ratchet. Noble Arcee.” His smile turned to a smirk. “Some weather we're having, hm?”

Ratchet nodded, willing to make small talk with the vosian noble for politics sake. “Terrible for flying, I'm sure.”

“If it weren't raining, it would be perfect. But acid isn't particularly to my tastes.” He examined the tips of his claws as he spoke. “Did you hear about the scientist from Kalis? What was he? A Mnueosurgeon?”

“I'm afraid we haven't have much time to keep up with the news lately,” Arcee responded, casually leaning against Ratchet's bulkier frame, allowing him to support her weight.

“Ah, yes, the whole ordeal around Senator Valor.” Starscream nodded thoughtfully. “How is he recovering?”

“Well,” Ratchet answered. “He should be on his pedes within the week.”

“Good, good,” Starscream mumbled in only passing concern. “This whole Kalis scandal, then. Some scientist was caught having an affair with a servent. They're saying the case might make it all the way up to the Prime.”

“Prime? Over a three tier separation?” Arcee scoffed, “Seems blown out of proportion.”

Starscream flicked his wings dismissively. “The mech's been vying for class exemption for ages. He's hoping to be classified as an archivist, they've nearly granted it a few times, so I doubt his class is much of an issue. But no, that's not the problem. They're refusing to separate, even petitioning for a legal bond, despite both being ayer.”

Arcee glanced up at Ratchet, a brow raised. The medic snorted, forcing the creeping nausea from his field. “The state will deny the bond and have them both transferred. It won't be news for long.”

“No reason to bring it to the Prime,” Arcee agreed. She gave Ratchet's arm a subtle squeeze where Starscream could not see.

The seeker sighed. “That would be the sensible thing, yes. But you know how the uneducated masses are. Some of them have it in their helms that frame classification should have no say in bonding. It's only a few but they are speaking rather loudly in this one. Rather idiotic, don't you agree, Minister?”

Ratchet's frame tensed further. “Ideas change,” he said carefully. “Whether or not they should.”

Starscream nodded, humming. “This is one of those 'not' cases, I think you'll agree. There were rumors when you were first elevated to the noble class, you know.”

Ratchet did know. It was safer to ask anyway. “Rumors?”

“Oh, yes.” Starscream nodded, optics wide. “People were questioning whether you were sure of your decision to be ayer. Wondered if you would have been happier as nora.”

Arcee chuckled, shaking her helm. “My brother would have been happier. He had an optic for Ratchet before he found out he was ayer. It was quite the disappointment.”

Ratchet frowned. “You really shouldn't mention that. I still feel guilty about having to turn Ironhide down.”

Starscream gaffed, “I'm sure 'Hide is happier with Chromia. And what of you two, still no sparklings?”

“We're not ready for children yet,” Arcee interjected before Ratchet could get a word out. “It wouldn't be fare to the sparkling and neither of us are ready to give up how busy we are.”

Starscream frowned, his brow tilting up in over exaggerated concern. “I wasn't aware you were that busy running the house, Arcee.”

“It's a new house,” she explained. “Lots to take care of, and very few to do it.”

“Besides,” Ratchet interjected, despite Arcee tightening her hold on his arm. “I'd be the one to carry, and I am very busy.”

“No health problems then?” Starscream continued to prod. “A few of your peers are starting to worry, even speculate.”

Ratchet shook his helm, smiling down at Arcee. “Both of us are in perfect health. It's by choice, I assure you.”

Arcee smiled back at her bondmate, quietly grateful and relieved. Ratchet had, for once, listened to her wishes. She turned back to Starscream with a polite flare of her field.

“You'll have to excuse us, Wing Lord. It's been pleasant speaking with you, but we really must congratulate Prowl before long.” Arcee dipped her helm respectfully as she excused herself and her bondmate. Ratchet's field sent a grateful pulse in her direction, anxiety and nausea still tinging the edges.

“Of course, of course.” Starscream nodded sagely. “Must not forget why we're here, after all.” He bowed, careful to keep himself taller than Ratchet. “Have a good orn, Minister.”

Ratchet bowed deeply in return, making his position in relation to Starscream clear. “Good orn, Wing Lord.” With that they parted ways, Starscream pushing his way deeper into the crowed.

Arcee tugged on Ratchet's elbow, silently guiding him into an empty corridor. He followed willingly.

“Ratchet,” she breathed, worry dripping from her tone.

“I know.” Ratchet paced to the wall, hands rubbing at his optics. “I know.”

Arcee sat heavily on a window sill, hunching over her knees. “I told you there’s been talk.”

“I know!” Ratchet's cape clung to his frame as he whorled about, temper evident in his voice.

Arcee watched him silently, hands buried in her lap.

Ratchet sighed. He dug a finger into the seam of his clavicular strut, pulling at the wires underneath. “I'm sorry, that was unnecessary.”

Arcee remained silent, watching her bonded. His temper wasn't anything new to her.

Ratchet leaned against the wall, rearranging the finery attached to his frame. He rubbed at his brow. “Probably not the best place to talk about this.”

The femme crossed her legs. “Probably not. I'm sorry I brought it up.”

“No, no,” Ratchet said without looking up. “We need to talk, just...”

“Later,” Arcee filled in.

The medic nodded. “Later.” He let his hand fall away from his face. “We'll figure this out.”

“Something needs to change, Ratchet.” Arcee pushed herself off the window sill.

Ratchet sighed. “I know.” He held out his hand, offering his arm to the two-wheeler. “We should get back.”

Arcee looped an arm around Ratchet's elbow. He bent down to place a kiss on her helm. She smiled back up at him. A gentle tug on his arm got Ratchet moving back towards the main hall. The medic's steps were heavy and slow, lacking the hidden excitement he'd had when they first arrived. His field was tinged with new caution that he carefully restrained upon reentering the crowd. Arcee pulled her field in to match.

The Prime's tall, gleaming frame stood out easily in the crowd. Prowl stood at his side, doorwings held high and proud. Arcee gently guided them over to the group.

“Health Minister, Lord Arcee,” Optimus greeted brightly. He smiled genuinely, clapping a hand over Ratchet's in a friendly greeting. Ratchet did not let the touch linger.

Arcee broke away from Ratchet to envelop Prowl in a quick hug, placing a chase kiss on his cheek. Despite Prowl's clear discomfort with the touch he smiled and returned the gesture. Arcee pulled away, returning to Ratchet's arm.

“Congratulations, Prowl.” Arcee said. Ratchet nodded, smiling down at his bonded. “You've worked so hard, you deserve this position.”

Prowl bowed his helm, smiling back. “Thank you, the both of you.”

“Where is Jazz?” Ratchet asked, glancing around the room.

“Off socializing.” Prowl pointed towards a far corner where Ratchet could just make out Jazz's bright blue visor. “As usual.” His smile grew fond.

“How's he coming along?” Arcee asked.

“Well,” Prowl answered.

Optimus leaned down to whisper in Ratchet's audio. “He's starting to show.” He grinned widely, wrinkles forming in the mesh next to his optics.

Ratchet raised a brow in Prowl's direction. “Seems a little early.”

Prowl glanced around Ratchet to catch a glimpse of his mate dancing his way through the crowd. “It's only noticeable if you know to look. But we'll have to announce his carriage soon.” He lowered his voice on the last sentence as not to be overheard.

“Then we can have another party, yah?” Jazz appeared from behind Prowl, leaning casually against his mate.

“Evening, Jazz.” Arcee smiled at the bubbly noble. Jazz bowed in return, despite being of a higher station than Arcee. The sway in Jazz's hips made the subtle bulge of his abdomen stand out in the bright ballroom light.

“Ya'll excited about the after party?” Jazz asked conversationally.

Arcee flinched and Ratchet glanced around nervously. The others frowned at the reaction.

Optimus placed a hand on Ratchet shoulder. “Is everything alright, old friend?”

The medic ducked out from under the touch. “Later,” he mumbled. The Prime nodded, slow and confused but accepted the answer.

“Where did you leave Elita, Prime?” Arcee asked as a way of changing the subject.

Optimus accepted the sudden change with grace. “Waylaid by house matters, unfortunately. She sends her apologies.”

Prowl waved the concern aside. “With all the political happenings of late, I don't blame her. It's amazing we managed to arrange this ceremony at all.”

Jazz patted his bonded's shoulder. “We would have figured it out for yah, babe.”

“Jazz, not in public.” Prowl scowled.

“Your accomplishments are important and should be celebrated, despite the political climate,” Optimus agreed. He screwed his mouth to the side. “On that note, however, it would be prudent for the both of us to continue greeting your guests before the ceremony.”

Prowl nodded, his reluctance shown only through his doorwings. Jazz looped his arm around Prowl's, following his larger mate into the crowd with a wave to Ratchet and Arcee.

Optimus lingered a moment, clearly wanting to say something but not wanting to elicit the same reaction as earlier. He settled for a polite bow before hurrying after the black and white mechs.

Ratchet glanced down to Arcee. He laid a hand over where she was clutching his arm. “Shall we?” He gestured to the main crowd of mechs.

Arcee watched him carefully. “Are you alright?”

The medic nodded. “I'm fine.”

She returned the nod. “Then let's.” She followed Ratchet's lead into the crowd.

–

“I'm sorry,” Arcee mumbled, watching the clean arches of Praxian architecture pass overhead as she and Ratchet moved through the tower's halls.

Ratchet glanced to her, humming a question.

“You were so excited for this.” The two wheeler continued.

“Hardly withing your control.” Ratchet turned back to looking at the potted crystals decorating a window sill.

“Still.”

They stopped in front of an nondescript door. A gentle ping to announce their presence and the door slid open. The Prime's bodyguard filled the door frame. He crossed his bulky red arms over his chest.

“Can I help you?” His voice was not welcoming.

Arcee scoffed, releasing Ratchet's arm to shove past the guard. “Not in the mood, 'Hide.”

“Jeeze,” Ironhide stepped away from the door, shuffling Ratchet inside. “What's crawled up your tailpipe?”

Ratchet simply shook his head, optics warning the red mech to keep quiet. Ironhide frowned but followed the two silently to the circle of mechs gathered in the suit's common room. 

Across the suit's foyer sat a group of bots, chittering loudly around a half empty table of high-grade. Arcee practically threw herself into one of the cushioned armchairs, all pretense of dignity and pose lost. Ironhide sat on the couch beside her, pulling Chromia into his lap. With a giggle she wrapped an arm around her bondmate's shoulder, obviously buzzed with overcharge already. 

Ratchet hovered behind Prowl, who sat with Jazz's helm in his lap. The smaller of the pair peered around Prowl's helm at the medic. He sipped at his sweetened mid-grade before speaking.

“Gonna sit, Ratch? OP's lap's gottin' cold over there.”

Optimus smiled gently from where he sat, legs parted to make just enough space for Ratchet's frame. The medic gave a slow nod. Instead of sitting in his lap he shoved Wheeljack aside, who moved further into the arm rest with minimal grumbling, to lean into the Prime's side. Optimus wrapped an arm around Ratchet, watching him with concerned optics.

“Alright, you two,” Elita spoke over the sudden silence, pointedly glancing between Ratchet and Arcee. “These guys were just telling me how strange you were acting earlier. What's wrong?”

Arcee covered her optics with an arm, sighing into the blue plating. “Can I get drunk first?” She asked, only half sarcastic.

“There's been rumors,” Ratchet rumbled, pulling away from Optimus to rub at his knee. “That I'm cheating on Arcee.”

“You are,” Wheeljack pointed out helpfully, tipping his glass towards his best friend and brother of choice.

“With permission,” Smokescreen added from his seat across the table.

“The public wouldn't see it that way.” Arcee tipped back another large swig of her drink.

“And we're both Ayer.” Ratchet looked up at his lover, optics bright with stress. Optimus leaned down to place a kiss on Ratchet's chevron.

“You're practically Nori, Ratchet.” Smokescreen pulled another cube of highgrade off the table, his third judging by the empty cubes by his chair. “Almost everyone messes up your subglyphs when they first meet you.”

“My framing certificate says Ayer,” Ratchet rubbed at his chevron, scratching at where Optimus' kiss had tickled the sensitive plating. “That's what the courts care about.”

Wheeljack sat up, nearly spilling his drink. “Court? You really think they would take you to court? You're the best medic on Cybertron and Optimus is the Prime. What could the courts do?”

“Separate them,” Arcee said. “Revoke Ratchet's ascension and by effect yours. Our house would be shamed since Ratchet is it's head. They would probably revoke Ratchet's medical license and use the whole fiasco as further reason to push for limiting the Prime's power. The senate could do a lot if this ever got out, 'Jack.”

Ratchet further buried his face in Optimus' side, groaning.

“I wouldn't let them,” Optimus whispered in his audio.

The group fell into somber silence until Arcee loudly slammed back the rest of her drink. “I came for a fun night away from politics,” she growled. “Not this.”

“You started it.” Ironhide smirked.

“Shut up, 'Hide.” Arcee reached for another drink.

With a sympathetic smile Elita reached around Optimus to hand Ratchet a cube. He waved her off with a returned smile, though it felt bitter against his lips. He had little interest in getting drunk tonight. Elita patted him on the knee and returned to the conversation.

A moment of absently staring into the middle distance and Ratchet heaved a sigh. He stood, pulling his tired frame away from Optimus' hold.

“Getting some air,” he said as explanation. 

-

No one disturbed him for nearly an hour.

The balcony at the back of the sweet hung high over the crystal gardens, high enough that the room remained private against spying reporters. The evening's earlier rain left the air with a bitter tinge to its chilled breeze and an acidic smell lingered in the gardens where the crystals had been singed. Ratchet breathed deeply, leaning against the railing and out over the gardens. His frame felt hot despite the cold.

The door creaked behind him.

“Here to tell me how much I'm over reacting?” Ratchet mumbled, not bothering to turn around.

“No.” Optimus' deep rumble wasn't what Ratchet had been expecting. The Prime joined his medic on the balcony’s edge. “To be honest, I am worried as well. Even if they are only rumors and not real speculation, it does not do any of us good.”

Ratchet ran his hands over the thick metal under his arms, feeling its weight. As beautifully crafted as the balcony was, he couldn't help but feel like it might give way under his weight. Optimus silently watched him study the railing, a fondness in his optics.

“Maybe this is a mistake,” Ratchet said at last. 

“Us?” Optimus said the same calm tone he always spoke in.

Ratchet nodded, the motion near imperceivable. “We're putting everyone in danger.”

“They would not have allowed us this if they did not understand and accept the risks.” Optimus stepped closer to Ratchet, brushing their shoulders. Ratchet leaned away.

“Wheeljack didn't seem to know,” Ratchet countered.

“He is very drunk, Ratchet.” Optimus allowed Ratchet his space, returning to where he'd stood before.

“I know.” Ratchet turned his helm away.

Optimus sighed. “Do you love me?”

Ratchet glanced up, optics bright, but did not make eye contact. He stared into the distance, watching the light to Cyberton's two moons play off the translucent crystals below. “Of course I do,” he breathed.

Optimus nodded, optics never leaving Ratchet. “Do you regret loving me?”

The medic pulled in a thick draught of air, holding it a moment before slowly venting out. “Some days.”

Optimus nodded, finally looking away. He studied his hands, the paint on his palm was chipped and streaked from the long day of formal greetings. “Ratchet,” he said eventually, “I love you with all my spark-”

“I know,” Ratchet mumbled, knowing Optimus had not finished what he wanted to say be feeling it to be important to acknowledge.

“But,” Optimus continued, “If you with to end this, for me to leave, I will.”

Ratchet looked to his lover, optics wavering. Optimus placed a hand under his chin, rubbing his thumb up and down the curve of his lips.

“Things will get easier,” The Prime whispered. “The public's opinion is already changing. Mech's are fighting the council to be together. We may not be in as much danger tomorrow as we are today.”

Ratchet pressed a kiss to Optimus' thumb. “I want to be with you.”

Optimus leaned forward, pressing a kiss against the medic's chevron, letting the contact linger. “We will work through this.”

Ratchet nodded, attempting a smile, though it was obvious he didn't really believe Optimus.

“Come back inside,” the Prime said. “Your friends have not seen you in a long time.” As he turned to leave Ratchet placed a hand against his chest, stopping him. Optimus watched Ratchet trace the seam to his spark chamber.

“Stay?” He asked. “Just for a little?”

Optimus nodded, pulling Ratchet against his broad frame, shielding him against the wind. The company inside would have to wait. Ratchet sunk back into his hold, laying his arm's atop Optimus'. He tilted his helm back and received a kiss. Optimus' lips were warm and solid against his, the scrapes where the Prime ran his teeth over them when worried was a rough contrast against the smooth metal of Ratchet's. The touch lingered for only a moment.

“It will get better,” Optimus breathed into Ratchet's audio.

“I trust you.” Ratchet let his helm roll forward, away from Optimus' piercing gaze.

“That is all I ask.” He rolled back on his pedes, rocking Ratchet gently in his embrace.

The medic huffed a silent laugh. “We should go inside.”

“You're alright?” Optimus asked.

“I'll be fine. Things will get better,” Ratchet echoed his lover's earlier words.

Optimus smiled, leading the medic by the hand back into the warmth of the foyer and the laughter of their friends.


End file.
